


For Life

by faithharkness



Series: Reel Merlin fics [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst, Character death (NOT Arthur or Merlin), Curses, Graphic Sex, Happy Ending, M/M, Oh so requited love, Unrequited Love, Violence, Wee Lance and Gwen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 21:49:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5643172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithharkness/pseuds/faithharkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Master thief (or so he claims) Gwaine escapes the dungeons of Camelot and finds himself embroiled in a fractured fairy tale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Written for reel_merlin over on LJ about a million years ago. My film prompt was _Ladyhawke_ , one of my favorite films (and another reason for my unreasonable expectations of men).
> 
> I got a bit wordy with the description of Merlin. It’s because I argue to this day that Michelle Pfeiffer has never been more beautiful than she is in that first shot of her in _Ladyhawke._

**Part I**  
“The mouse has left his house.”

Gwaine snorted as he heard his cellmate mutter the refrain. He had never liked the nickname. Sure, he could get into and out of pretty much anywhere in all of Camelot (including those deep, dark catacombs that everyone insisted _did NOT_ exist, nor did they house some form of ancient magic); but that didn’t make him a mouse. It made him an incredible thief. He didn’t have to sneak in through impossible spaces (although he was incredibly capable of sliding through shadows and slips of doorway cracks); he had his charm and bravado to get him into places he should not be. He was a _lion_ among men. However, he could grudgingly agree that it was harder for the drunken maniac to rhyme “lion” than it was to rhyme “mouse”. Besides, he was out of that dank cell; and that was all that _really_ mattered, wasn’t it?

Actually, what mattered was the guards had come specifically for him; the rest of the men slated for the gallows were catch-as-catch-can. But they definitely wanted Gwaine. He had to continue digging and squirming his way through dirt and filth he didn’t really want to _think_ about. 

He shouted as he fell out of the tunnel he’d carved out and down into water. One of the city’s old underwater aqueducts. _Still, better that than catacombs that may have taken weeks for me to find an escape from,_ he told himself, trying to remain calm as he swam to the surface.

He coughed as he broke through the surface, and immediately yelped as he saw something coming toward him in the water. He pulled himself up onto the nearest ledge and clutched the wall.

“Great goddess,” he breathed, “please don’t let that be what I think it is. If it isn’t, I swear I will never steal another thing as long as I live. I’ll devote myself to your practices. If, of course, it must be what I think it is, no hard feelings.”

He finished his prayer and made himself as small as possible on the ledge, watching what he fervently prayed was not some sort of water beast come toward him. At the seemingly last moment, it swirled in the water, revealing itself to be a bovine skull.

“I don’t believe it,” Gwaine breathed. 

He lifted his head as he heard chanting.

“I believe it,” he amended with awe.

He dropped back down into the water and began swimming toward the sound. “I’m coming, My Lady. I’m coming.” 

His swimming brought him to an upward shaft. He looked up and saw light streaming down through a grate. _I must be below the great hall,_ he thought. He reached up for one of the large handholds in the wall and began pulling himself up the shaft.

He paused in his climb as he heard the bells of the guard towers begin to ring. That wasn’t good; it meant word had been spread about his escape. He shook his head and continued climbing, huffing a laugh as he balanced on a handhold, his hands grasping the grate above his head. He heard the chanting stop as the main doors opened, admitting someone with a purposeful step.

Mordred, Captain of the High Priestess’ guard, pushed open the heavy doors of the great hall and stormed into the room. The chanting held to offer praise to the Goddess before every important state function ceased. Nimueh, High Priestess and ruler of Camelot, raised an eyebrow at his interruption and impertinence. He stared back at her, opening his mind enough to let her see the matter was of great importance.

“We shall finish this later,” Nimueh proclaimed to those assembled. She inclined her head for Mordred to follow her.

Mordred stomped across the hall, following her to a door behind her throne.

Gwaine let out a muffled scream as Mordred’s boot came down upon his fingers, causing him to lose his grip on the grating and plummet down into the waters below.  
****

“Tell me, Mordred, what was of such great importance that I had to interrupt the hearing of the supplicants?” Nimueh asked as she walked through her garden.

Mordred was half a step behind her, as tradition dictated. “A prisoner has escaped from the dungeons.”

Nimueh paused. “Impossible. No one escapes from the dungeons of Camelot. Our citizens consider it as historic fact.”

“Yes, Mistress. Still, it would be a miracle if he got through the sewage system.”

“I believe in miracles,” Nimueh said with a smirk. “They are rather part of my job.”

“It is but one thief, My Mistress.”

“Great storms announce themselves with a simple breeze,” she said gravely, her eyes flashing. “A single random spark can ignite the fires of rebellion.”

He carefully met her gaze. “I will find him.”

“Yes, you will.”

With a bow, Mordred hurriedly left her presence to organize the search for the escaped prisoner.

He collected his guards as he made his way to the stables, quickly outfitting his men and their horses for the search. “Edwin, you take your men north; Valiant, to the east; Tauren to the west. I will head south. The name of the man who finds Gwaine will be brought to the personal attention of Nimueh; as will the body of the one who lets him escape!” Mordred ordered before leading his men out of the gates of Camelot.

From a rise just south of the castle, a hooded figure sat on a horse, watching as the guardsmen rode out.  
****

After plunging back down into the water, Gwaine had decided that swimming would be the better mode of escape. He had taken a deep breath and then dove down, swimming for all he was worth. He found a tunnel with a swift current and swam into it. He had almost run out of breath when he reached a grate. He felt with his hands and realized there were broken bars, just enough that he could slip through and up out of the tunnel.

He broke the surface as quietly as possible for one whose lungs felt ready to burst. Luckily, he had come out under the bridge leading out of Camelot and no one had seen him. He swam to the wall on the far side, keeping close so as not to draw attention to himself. He spotted two guards sitting on the low wall, enjoying a midday meal. He drew up to them quietly, reaching up to carefully slide a dagger out of one man’s sheath. He swam to the next and gently cut away his coin purse. He swam away from them, dashing a quick look at the sky.

“I know what I said, My Lady, but I know that you know what a weak-willed person I am. I expect you shall forgive me for it.”

He swam slowly downriver, toward where the residents of Camelot unable to afford living within the keep made their homes. He needed to get some clothes that didn’t smell like the back end of a wet stable. He floated down the river until he saw some clothes hanging on a line near the water. He figured this was as good a place as any to leave the water and swam to the shallows near a wooded embankment. He pulled himself out of the water and winced as he stepped over fallen branches and brambles in his bare feet. 

He noticed an adorable little girl with a riot of curls watching him as he approached the line of drying clothes. He gave her his most winning smile as he took a pair of breeches, a shirt and shoes off the line.

“He’s stealing Daddy’s shoes!” the little girl said, utterly dismayed.

A little boy Gwaine hadn’t noticed before ran over to the little girl’s side. “I’ll take care of this,” the little boy said boldly, raising his wooden sword.

Gwaine held up his hands, full of his ‘appropriated’ goods. “Now, now, my good lad. There’s no need for violence.”

“You are stealing from Gwen. You must be challenged,” the little boy said, firming his grip on the hilt of his sword.

Gwaine bowed deeply, then, slowly, he reached for the bag of coins he had taken from the guard. He fished out three gold coins and held them out to the little boy. “Recompense for your lady’s property.”

The little boy looked at Gwen.

“Take it, Lance!” she said.

The little boy, Lance, took the coins. “Next time, ask to purchase or trade,” he said solemnly.

Gwaine bowed his head. “Had I known I would be dealing with such honorable souls, I would have this time.”

Lance nodded and hurried back over to Gwen.

Gwaine smiled at the small pair and hurried off, anxious to find a place to trade his wet, smelly clothes for his new-found acquisitions.  
****

After several hours’ travel (in which he hid in ditches and fallow fields several times to escape Camelot’s guards), Gwaine finally came upon an inn which looked to offer all he desired—good food, better drink and appropriate sleeping accommodations. 

The cloaked man on the horse, who had followed Gwaine’s trail with interest, looked at the hawk on his arm.

“This will be interesting.”

Gwaine, oblivious to his watcher, walked under the bowers and latticework holding up the vines and took a deep breath of the fragrant air. Yes, this place just might get the stench of the dungeons out of his system.

He paused halfway up the row of tables and benches set out for drinkers. He grinned brilliantly. He had _done it_! He had broken out of the dungeons of Camelot! With a renewed spring in his step, he made his way to the bar.

The barman eyed him skeptically as he took in the grin on the slightly scruffy man.

“Barkeep!” Gwaine said with broad joviality. “A mug of your finest mead!”

“Have you got means to pay?”

Gwaine shook the bag of coins he’d taken from the soldier at him. “I have means.”

The barkeep shrugged and turned to pour the mead.

Gwaine turned to take in the few men sitting at the tables. “And the same for any man here willing to drink a toast to me.”

“Let’s hear your toast,” replied one of the hooded men at the tables.

Gwaine smirked as he took his mead from the barman. “I propose a toast to a most extraordinary man. A man who has no equal. A man who has seen the inside of the dungeons of Camelot and lived to tell the tale.”

“Then you speak of me,” said the hooded man.

Gwaine stepped toward him, assessing. “A farmer? A blacksmith, perhaps? But a prisoner of the dungeons? I think not.”

The hooded man stood and threw back his hood. “I never said I was a prisoner,” Mordred said. 

_Fuck_. While he had not been apprehended by Mordred, _everyone_ knew the face of the Captain of the Guard. Knowing it was a futile effort, he bowed his head. “My lord,” he said, even as he tried to find a way out of this.

Mordred flicked two of his fingers. “Bring him,” he said before lifting his goblet to his mouth.

Three of the guards moved toward Gwaine. Gwaine, figuring it was better to go down fighting than at the end of a rope, grabbed a large bag off a nearby table and swung it at the head of the nearest guard. As the guard fell, Gwaine used him to launch himself onto the overhead latticework supporting the vines. He ran across the top, hoping he could get past them and down and back into the woods. He had grown up in the woods, with enough of a head start, he could lose the guards. He dodged the swords coming up through the beams, trying to lame him so they wouldn’t have to chase him down.

Gwaine flipped down off the beams, giving himself a silent pat for good form. He took two steps before arms looped through his, pulling him back. He elbowed one of his captors and managed to wrench a knife out of its sheath, holding it in front of him as he was spun about. 

He realized two things at once as he finished being spun around. One, he had managed to make contact with his stolen knife and, two, that contact had been across Mordred’s cheek.

“My lord, my apologies,” Gwaine said, dropping the knife.

Mordred reached up, sliding his finger over the cut. He pulled his hand back and stared at the bloodied digit. “Kill him.”

Gwaine fought as the two guards pulled him toward a support beam. They pressed him against it, standing behind the post to hold his arms. Gwaine closed his eyes and began a prayer as one of the guards came toward him, sword raised to behead him.

“Argh!”

Gwaine’s eyes snapped open and he saw his would-be executioner pulling a crossbow bolt out of his arm. He looked away, following the gazes of Mordred and his men to see a tall man dressed all in black holding a crossbow aimed directly at Mordred’s heart. One of the guards raised his own crossbow and was quickly taken down by a bolt to the neck. Gwaine’s guards released his arms as they went for their weapons.

“You. Out,” said the man in black, gesturing at Gwaine with his crossbow. 

Gwaine nodded and hurried toward the man. The man thrust his crossbow at Gwaine, who grabbed it by reflex as he hurried past, heading for the stables.

“Arthur,” Mordred fairly spat. “One of my men told me you had returned to Camelot. I had his throat cut for lying because I _knew_ you weren’t that stupid.”

Arthur didn’t flinch, just calmly unsheathed his sword.

“Kill him,” Mordred ordered.

One of the guards stepped toward Arthur, his sword raised.

“Percival,” Arthur said, nodding.

“Captain Pendragon,” Percival replied, bowing his head to his former commander.

Mordred snorted. “ _Captain_ ,” he said, pushing Percival forward onto Arthur’s sword.

Arthur reached out to his friend, trying to pull Percival off his sword even as he laid him on the ground. The light was gone from the young knight’s eyes before he reached the earth. Arthur glared up at Mordred, gracefully gaining his feet and advancing with his sword raised.

Mordred met the first parry and let his luck get the better of him, as he was felled by Arthur’s fist to his jaw. Arthur tossed Mordred back into his guards before sprinting for the stables.

Gwaine heard the sounds of fighting as he struggled valiantly to mount one of the horses. “Hold still, you filthy strumpet!” he said, wishing he had not dropped the crossbow as soon as he had cleared the vineyard.

Arthur swept up his fallen crossbow as he made for his stallion. He swallowed a laugh as he watched Gwaine argue with the other horses.

Mordred regained his senses and glared up at his men, who were staring down at him. “After him!” he roared.

They leapt to attention, chasing after Arthur, crossbows at the ready. Two of them dropped to the ground as a large hawk came toward them, screeching and flying with talons forward.

“Bloody tarts!” Gwaine huffed, giving up on the horses. He ran along the hedge, hoping Mordred and his men would be too busy fighting with the man in black to pay him much heed.

Arthur swung onto Brego and urged the stallion forward, down the road away from the inn. He smiled as he saw Gwaine running. He held tightly to the reins with one hand and reached out with the other to snatch at the back of Gwaine’s shirt. He hauled the other man up and slung him over the front of his saddle.

Gwaine squawked as he was unceremoniously deposited on a horse. He heard a sharp cry and looked up to see the biggest hawk he’d ever seen in his life land on the man’s shoulder.

“Nice work,” the man said.

The hawk took flight again, leaving Gwaine to wonder just what horror he’d gotten himself into now.  
*****

They rode through the woods for several hours in near silence. The only time the man in black had spoken was to introduce himself as Arthur and to tell Gwaine he could ride behind him. This may or may not have been in response to the gagging noises Gwaine had started to make as they galloped through the countryside with the spine of a horse digging into his stomach.

As the sun began to hang low in the sky, Gwaine began to become restless. “So, you _are_ Arthur Pendragon, then? Because I noticed, as I was fleeing, a certain disdain in Mordred’s voice that he reserves only for those he hates the most. And even in the dungeons, we heard tell of the massive rivalry between Mordred and Arthur, the Captain of the Guard. I always wondered why you stayed around as Captain after your father’s death. I even wondered why Nimueh kept you around, seeing as she overthrew him. It is possible that my wondering of that aloud is what got me thrown into prison,” he said, barely pausing for breath.

“Cease your chattering,” Arthur said. He had spotted smoke up ahead and made for what he hoped was a place they could stay for the night.

 _I think they’re more dangerous than the guards. Definitely creepier,_ Gwaine thought as he viewed the homestead they had come upon. It was obviously a huntsman’s shack—as evidenced by the pelts and very large axe slung over the owner’s shoulder. His equally creepy wife stood beside him, her apron dark and stained.

“My comrade-in-arms and I need lodging for the evening,” Arthur said to them.

The huntsman eyed the two men on horseback, paying special attention to the large hawk sitting on the blond’s shoulder. “No place for you here,” he said.

“We’ll pay,” Gwaine said, jingling the coins in his purloined purse.

Arthur kept his face calm, but cringed inside at his compatriot’s antics. He didn’t want this huntsman and his wife to know they had money; it made them even larger targets.

The wife squeezed her husband’s arm.

“You can sleep in the barn,” he said.

Arthur nodded and urged his horse forward into the barn. 

Gwaine quickly dismounted once they had reached the relative safety of the barn. He hurried back and closed the door behind them, catching the hard look the huntsman was shooting their way. He turned back to find Arthur had moved into a semi-private area and had begun taking things out of a saddlebag.

“If there’s nothing else, m’lord, I’ll turn in,” Gwaine said. He had his eye on the loft for a good night’s sleep.

“Take care of my horse,” Arthur said, setting his bag down. “Sleep with one eye open and don’t disturb me.”

“Of course.”

“And if you want a fire, you’ll need to gather wood yourself.”

“Yes, m’lord,” Gwaine muttered, reaching to take the horse’s reins. “Come on, girl.”

The horse stayed still.

“Come on, girl,” he said, tugging again. “Would you just please come—”

He was cut off by the sound of Arthur’s laughter.

“ _His_ name is Brego,” Arthur said, walking over to join them. He stroked the horse’s nose. “Go with him, he didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

Gwaine snorted as Brego allowed him to lead him away.

Arthur returned to his bag and pulled out his helmet. From inside the helmet he pulled out a pair of soft, worn breeches and a dark blue shirt. He set them aside and pulled out a dark red kerchief. He held it to his face and inhaled deeply, savoring the familiar sent. He turned his head to see the sun halfway below the horizon.

“One day.”  
*****

Gwaine traipsed through the woods, gathering firewood. “Comrade-in-arms,” he scoffed. “Slave is more like it. See to the animals. Gather firewood. My cellmate was a murderer and ragingly insane, but _he_ respected me. Hmm…that may not be the greatest endorsement for me.” He paused to think that over.

“Regardless, Pendragon is a strange one. Why save my life? He wants something; I can see it in his eyes. Well,” he said, throwing his gathered wood on the ground, “whatever it is, I’m not going to do it. I’m off to find my future. Goodbye and good luck, Captain.”

He stopped dead as he heard a branch snap. He stayed still, listening for sounds of movement. While half of him figured Mordred’s men would have made far more sound, the escaped-thief half of him was screaming at him to run before he was felled by a bolt from a crossbow.

“Ah, Hector, there you are,” Gwaine said aloud. “And I see you’ve brought your sword. Very good. I do believe Thomas is further south with his axe. I’ll go get the captain and let him know it is time to change shifts,” he said, running for the barn.

He tripped just feet from the barn. As he rolled to his back, he saw the huntsman looming over him, his axe raised. Gwaine closed his eyes, waiting for the blow to fall. He opened them again when he heard the snarl of a wolf and the huntsman’s scream. He watched as the wolf careened into the huntsman—who had very rightly been screaming in terror, in Gwaine’s opinion. The scream quickly shut off as the wolf brought the huntsman to the ground and closed its jaws around his throat.

“No!” Gwaine shouted in warning to the wolf as he saw the huntsman’s wife coming for the wolf with an axe of her own. He didn’t wait around to see how she fared; he gained his feet and sprinted for the barn.

“Sir! Sir! Captain! Wolf! Wolf!” he cried, running through the barn and looking for Arthur. “Sir?!”

He heard the huntsman’s wife’s last screams and dove for the crossbow. He ran over to an open area in the barn, trying to load it as he ran. He managed to slot the bolt home and raise the crossbow just as he saw the wolf lift its head from the woman’s corpse.

He almost shrieked as a hand reached from behind him and pushed the crossbow down. He turned his head to see a hooded figure. He vaguely recognized Arthur’s cloak.

“Shh,” the figure said.

Gwaine turned completely to see the hood of the cloak framing the face of the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. Alabaster skin was pulled over high cheekbones. Deep blue eyes seemed to sparkle as full lips curved in a smile. The man bowed his head and turned to leave the barn.

“No, don’t go out there! There’s a wolf!” he said, reaching for the man’s arm. “It’s the biggest wolf I’ve ever seen. And a dead man. And a dead man’s wife!”

The man put his hand over Gwaine’s on his arm. “I know,” he said quietly.

Gwaine watched, shocked still, as the man walked out of the barn and over to the wolf. He held a hand out to the wolf, which came over and nuzzled the pale hand lovingly.

“Maybe I’m dreaming,” Gwaine said, leaning on the doorframe. “My eyes are open. Maybe I’m asleep, wondering if I’m dreaming because I think I’m awake, but I’m really dreaming.”

“You are dreaming.”

Gwaine gasped and dropped the crossbow, bolting up the ladder into the loft and cramming himself into a corner. After a few moments, he lifted his head to look out and see the cloaked man walk into the deep of the woods with the wolf by his side. He ducked back down and closed his eyes, wishing desperately for one of the icons his mother had given him as a child.

“I do not believe what I believe. These are magical things and I _beg_ you not to make me a part of them, My Lady. I have enough problems as it is.”  
****

Mordred cursed as he switched horses yet again. He had been riding across the countryside all night. No one would admit to seeing a man in black with an escaped thief. And now he had to return to Camelot and report that to his mistress.


	2. Part II

**Part II**  
Arthur walked in front of Gwaine, who was leading Brego, as they traveled through the woods the next morning. His hawk was perched on his arm as they took in the sights of a freshly dawned morning; it was foggy and not very conducive to travel. At least, not travel that could stay out of the way of Mordred’s wrath. Arthur tried to shake off the sight of the bodies back at the cottage; it had not been the best way to start his morning.

“Stop,” he said to Gwaine. “It is not a great day for travelers. Let us rest,” he said, scouting a seat at the base of a large oak.

Gwaine wrapped Brego’s reins around a nearby branch and settled down across from Arthur. “Sir, where were you last night?”

“It is not important.”

“But, at the cottage—”

“Yes, I did notice our ‘hosts’ were rather dead this morning. What happened?” he asked, stroking a finger over the hawk’s feathers.

“I think they were coming to slaughter us in our sleep. I came back from gathering firewood and was attacked by the huntsman. This large, black wolf came out of the woods and attacked him, saving my life. The wife came after him and I shouted a warning. I don’t know why, but I felt I owed it to the wolf for protecting me. As the wolf turned on the wife, I ran for the barn to get the crossbow. And then…”

“And then?” Arthur prompted.

“There was a man.”

“A man?”

“A young man, in a hooded cloak. He was…beautiful, m’lord. Skin like fine porcelain and deep blue eyes. Eyes like a bird’s. He stayed my hand and then he said—”

“He spoke?” Arthur said, sitting up a little straighter.

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“I asked him if I was dreaming and he said I was.”

Arthur smiled and nodded.

“I’m not insane. My cellmate was insane. I _know_ insane. I’m not insane.”

“I believe you.”

“You do?”

Arthur nodded, a soft smile on his face. “I believe in dreams.”

“I see.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, Gwaine cursing himself for not making up something more realistic than the truth as Arthur stroked the hawk’s feathers.

“Did he perhaps have a name?” Arthur asked.

“Not that he mentioned,” Gwaine replied, not sure whether or not he was being teased. “Why?”

“Well, he might wander into my dreams some night. Wouldn’t it be nice if I could call him by name and pretend we’d met before? I have waited a long time for such a man.” Arthur sighed. “Get some sleep. The hawk will alert us if anyone comes,” he said, pulling his hood low over his face.

“I’ve gotta be out of my mind,” Gwaine said, hunkering down next to his own tree.  
*****

Mordred arrived in Camelot not long after the morning’s supplications had ended. He tossed the reins of his horse to a stable boy and strode into the keep. He found Nimueh in her garden. He waited in an alcove and watched her be entertained by a young male dancer. He saw her shoot a quick look toward him before she went back to watching the young man’s performance. Once the young man was done, she blessed him and nodded her head to one of her attendants, indicating the young man should be treated with the utmost care until her return.

She seemed to glide over to Mordred, her graceful movements and beautiful face at odds with the fire in her eyes.

“Have you found the criminal?” she asked once she reached him.

“Not yet, my mistress.”

“Why, then, do you invade my garden unwashed and unshaved? Do you think he hides here?”

“Arthur has returned.”

“Walk with me,” she snapped, walking toward her chambers. 

Mordred hurried to keep up and maintain a respectful distance behind her.

“Is Gwaine with him?” she asked.

“We believe so. My men are combing the woods. I came back to report to you.”

“And the hawk?”

“Mistress?” he asked, confused.

“ _Arthur’s_ hawk.”

“There was a hawk at the inn,” he confirmed.

“The hawk is not to be harmed. The day it dies, a new captain of the guard will preside at _your_ execution.”

Mordred gasped, but kept pace.

“These are dangerous times, Mordred. Famine prevents the proper tributes to our cause. I raise taxes, but the people complain there is nothing left to tax.”

She paused in her walk, forcing Mordred to stop abruptly. He stepped even with her and saw the calm she possessed when having or recounting a vision.

“Last night,” she said, her voice slightly breathless. “Last night I had a dream. The messenger of magic’s Enemy is traveling across our lands. His name is Arthur Pendragon—Uther’s Bairn. Now go. Find Gwaine and Arthur and kill them. To break faith with me is to break faith with Her.”

Mordred kissed her offered hand, bowing deeply over it. He hurried off, determined to not allow his mistress to be disappointed in him.

Nimueh watched him leave, then moved to her chief lady in waiting.

“Get me Morgause.”  
*****

Gwaine was trying to make himself useful. Whatever oddness there was about Arthur, he was sure that he would have died at least twice had he not been with the man. So he was in the forest chopping wood for their campsite. They didn’t have an axe and Arthur appeared to still be sleeping, so Gwaine had ‘borrowed’ his sword for the purpose of gaining the implements of heat for the night.

“Next victim,” he muttered, eyeing a large branch. He lifted the sword and swung down—

Only to have his arm stayed by Arthur grabbing his forearm.

“Arthur!” Gwaine said, startled.

Arthur wrenched the sword from his grip, examining the blade before turning his attention to Gwaine. “This sword has been in my family for five generations. It has never known defeat. Until now.”

“My lord, I’m—”

Arthur held the sword up so Gwaine could see it clearly. “This jewel,” he said, pointing to a large green jewel in the center of the hilt, “represents my family name.” He turned the sword over. “This jewel represents my mother’s family—noble in their own right,” he said, indicating one to the left of the hilt. His finger slid over to touch a dark blue stone on the right side. “This stone represents our loyalty to the Old Ways. And this one,” he said, tapping the empty space in the middle.

“My lord, surely you cannot think I stole—”

Arthur held up his hand to silence him. “This one is mine to fill.” He held the sword up, then sheathed it at his hip. “Each generation is called upon to follow a quest.”

“And what is yours, Arthur?”

“I must kill someone.”

“Does this walking corpse have a name?”

Arthur gave him a sad smile. “Her Grace, the High Priestess of Camelot. _Nimueh.”_

“I see,” Gwaine said, backing slowly away. “Well, then, you have much to do and I’ve already been enough of a burden. I’ll just be on my way,” he finished, turning to hurry away. He’d take his chances in the woods; which had to be better now that the huntsman and his creepy wife were dead.

“I need you!”

Gwaine paused and turned to face him.

“I need you to guide me into the city. You got out; you can get me back in.”

“That was pure chance! A once in a lifetime happening.”

“I have waited almost two years for a sign; so when I heard the warning bells of Camelot toll, I knew you’d be my guide. You were sent to me.”

“That’s funny. Because I talk to the Goddess all the time and she never mentioned you. So I’ll just be on my way,” he said, turning again and walking as fast as he dared.

He stopped dead as the sword sunk itself into the tree beside him; right at eye level. He ran a finger lightly over the blade and turned to stare at Arthur.  
*****

_Bugger! These things are so much easier to catch as a hawk!_ Merlin thought as he chased a rabbit through the woods. Arthur hadn’t had time to re-supply, so he was on his own for dinner.

“Gotcha!” he said as he seized the rear feet of his prey.

“Oh, thank the Goddess!”

Merlin yelped, releasing the rabbit, which bolted into a warren. “Damn it!” he said, sitting down on the forest floor.

“Excuse me? Sir? I’m in a bit of a bind.”

Merlin looked up to see the man he’d helped the night before—the man traveling with Arthur, so he must be trustworthy—tied to a very large tree. “What happened to you?” he asked.

“To me? Yes, well, that is a _very_ good question. These men came. Arthur was luckily…away from camp. They asked about him, but I didn’t give him up, sir. So they tied me here while they went to search for him. Please, you have to let me go before they come back.”

Merlin gained his feet and walked over to study Gwaine. “You look a bit unbruised to have met with Mordred’s men.”

“Mordred was not with them; I presume they wanted to leave the honor of bruising me to him.”

Merlin nodded; from all he knew of Mordred, that made sense.

“Sir?”

Merlin turned his attention back to Gwaine.

“Could you please help me down?”

Merlin sighed and pulled his knife from its sheath. He walked to Gwaine and quickly cut through the ropes.

Gwaine sighed in relief and took off into the forest. “Thank you, sir! Tell the captain he ties a hell of a knot,” he called back over his shoulder.

Merlin groaned. “Oh, he’s going to kill me.”  
*****

Arthur sat astride Brego, watching his hawk soaring across the field. He held his arm up for the hawk, who landed and cawed at him.

“Let’s go find Gwaine,” he said, tapping the hawk’s head lightly.

The hawk took flight, leading the way.  
*****

Gwaine peered over the low rise of stone which had at some time been the wall of a home. He looked down upon the encampment of Mordred’s men. He cursed silently—he could either wait here and hope they decamped without seeing him, or he could turn around and pray he didn’t run into Arthur.

He had almost made his decision when he felt a blade at his neck.

“Bugger.”

Valiant smiled as he two of his men shoved Gwaine to his knees in front of him. “Gwaine. You’re a long way from the sewers. I suppose this time, the drinks are on us.”

Gwaine rolled his eyes.

Valiant strode forward and grabbed him by the neck. “Where is Arthur?” he growled before flinging Gwaine to the ground.

“Arthur?” Gwaine coughed. He held up his hands as Valiant took a step toward him. “Big man? Black horse? Yes?”

Valiant snarled.

“I’ll take that as a positive response. I last saw him riding south, toward Camelot.”

“We ride north,” Valiant snapped to his men.

“It’s not polite to assume someone is a liar when you’ve only just met,” Gwaine admonished.

Valiant gave a sharp smile. “You are right, thief.” He turned to his men. “Scatter, take up sentry positions. We shall wait to see if the thief speaks true.”

Gwaine barely had a chance to begin a protest before a gag was tied to his mouth.  
*****

Arthur rode through the countryside, following Gwaine’s trail. For a man who was a thief and prided himself upon slipping in and out unnoticed, Gwaine didn’t bother covering his trail too well. Arthur’s hawk flew ahead, occasionally diving to catch some prey or investigate something shiny.

The hawk returned from its latest sojourn as Arthur began to ride through what had once been a small settlement; perhaps an abandoned military outpost. It settled gently on Arthur’s arm, watching behind them as Arthur’s eyes swept the area ahead. He rode past an old man huddled near a fire. Something in the man’s eyes caught Arthur’s attention. Something was amiss. He flicked his wrist, sending the hawk into the sky so his hands would be free to fight.

Gwaine was, above all, a masterful thief. Part of being a masterful thief meant one could get around or through any halfway-decent lock or restraint. Which was why he had been slowly but surely untying the ropes binding his wrists. He freed himself just as Arthur paused near the old man. Reaching up, he pulled the gag out of his mouth, intending to shout a warning to Arthur.

Arthur’s head snapped up as he heard a noise. He saw Gwaine struggling with a guard as other guards lurched forward toward Arthur. Arthur leapt of his horse and met the charge, keeping an eye out for Gwaine and an ear out for his hawk.

Gwaine struggled with the guard before he managed to free himself, allowing himself a small smile of pleasure as he kneed the other man in the balls. He looked around and saw Arthur was making quick work of the other men. Movement caught his eye and he saw a guard stand from behind a wall near him, his crossbow trained on Arthur. He ran over and pushed at the man’s arm, throwing off his aim. He tore the crossbow out of the guard’s hands and smacked him in the face with it, knocking him unconscious.

Arthur heard his hawk let out a piercing shriek. He looked up to see it had been hit.

“No!” he screamed as he watched it fall. He barely felt the impact of the crossbow bolt into his shoulder.

Gwaine turned at the shout to see Arthur staring at the sky. The bolt from the guard’s crossbow had hit the hawk, which was now half-gliding and half-falling to the ground. Gwaine watched it land relatively safely and hurried toward it.

Arthur pulled the bolt out and stabbed it into the neck of the guard nearest to him. He watched impassively as another guard reached his horse and mounted, riding away. Arthur let him go, instead rushing to his hawk. He thrust his sword into the ground as he reached the hawk. He turned his head to yell at Gwaine.

“In my saddlebag, there is a shirt. Get it and bring it!”

Gwaine changed course mid-stride, responding to the order without thinking. 

Arthur knelt beside the hawk, gently picking it up and cradling it against his chest. Gwaine was standing beside him in a moment, handing him the dark blue shirt. Arthur took it and carefully wrapped the hawk in it, gently cooing to it as he did so. He glanced up, realizing the sun was nearing the horizon.

“Take him,” he said, his voice breaking as he handed the hawk to Gwaine. “Find help.”

“Me?” Gwaine replied, awkwardly taking the hawk. 

“You’re the only one I have,” Arthur said as he stood.

“But the poor thing is done for!”

Arthur grabbed him by the throat. “Do _not_ say that!” he growled. He let go of Gwaine’s throat and grabbed his upper arm, walking them over to Brego. “Follow that road,” he said, pointing. “Find the ruined castle and ask for a priestess named Morgana. She’ll know what to do.”

Gwaine stared at him blankly.

“Get on my horse.”

“You’re the only one who can ride him,” Gwaine protested.

“Get on now.”

Gwaine handed the hawk back to Arthur as he mounted the horse. Once he was seated, Arthur handed the hawk back up to him, his fingers trailing gently over its feathers as he released the precious bundle.

Arthur looked up and met Gwaine’s eyes. “Know this. If you fail, I will follow you the length of my days and I will find you. Go.”

Gwaine nodded, then urged Brego into a gallop.

Arthur knelt next to his sword and began to pray more fervently than he ever had in his life.  
****

Gwaine pushed Brego to his limits, barreling down the road toward a castle he wasn’t sure existed, but prayed was at the end of the road. He couldn’t go back to Arthur and tell him he’d failed. 

The hawk chirruped and Gwaine realized he’d been holding it against his chest a little too tightly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Minutes later, he found himself staring up at the parapet of a partially-ruined castle. “Thank you, Goddess,” he breathed. “Hello!” he called up. “Please, for pity’s sake! Hello!”

He heard some muttering and stumbling, then found himself looking up at the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Large blue eyes stared down at him through dark hair flying wildly around her face in the wind. “What?” she shouted down.

“Are you Morgana?”

“Who wants to know?”

“Please, I was told to bring you this wounded bird.”

Her eyes lit up. “Splendid! Just in time for dinner!” she said, moving along the walkway to reach the drawbridge control.

“We can’t eat this bird!”

“Ugh. Is it plague again?”

“No, this hawk belongs to Arthur Pendragon!”

The woman froze. “Mother Goddess,” she breathed. “Bring it in! Quickly!” she said, releasing the drawbridge.

Gwaine rode across, climbing off Brego as carefully as he could once he was in the courtyard.

“Up here!” she called and he looked up to see her on the next level. He took a moment to admire her as she moved forward. Although her hair was wild, her bearing leaned more toward regal lady than insane hermit. There was something about her style of dress that reminded him of the priestess of his village.

“Walk on the left side,” she said as he reached the stairs.

He did as she asked, looking down to see that beneath the stairs was a deep, dark void.

“Quickly!” Morgana urged.

Gwaine sped up and followed her into a room.

“Over there,” she said, pointing to a large platform.

Gwaine walked over and carefully set the bird down.

Morgana stood beside him and gently unwrapped the shirt from around the hawk. “Out,” she said to Gwaine.

“But Arthur said—”

She grabbed his arm and marched him out of the room, slamming the door behind him. She then hurried back over to the hawk.

“Don’t be frightened,” she soothed. “I know what to do. We must wait just a little while,” she said, looking out the window to see the sun was near to setting. “I’ll be back,” she said.

Morgana left the room, locking the door behind her. She hurried off to her apothecary. She had to gather her supplies to save the hawk’s life.

Gwaine waited until Morgana had entered another door into the castle before dropping down from his hiding place. He had scraped together some nails and other materials he could use to pick a lock and set to work on this one. Within a few minutes, he had the door unlocked and was slipping inside without Morgana being the wiser.

He closed the door behind him and allowed his eyes to adjust to the candlelight. He turned toward the platform and stopped dead when he saw not the dying hawk, but the man from the woods. The beautiful man who had gone off into the darkness with the wolf. He stepped closer, noting that the man’s skin was stark against the rough cotton sheet draped across his waist. The silken expanse of flesh was marred by the blood coming from the wound in his shoulder.

As a wolf howled in the night, the man opened his eyes and looked at Gwaine.

“Arthur?” he asked.

Gwaine hurried forward to stand as close as he dared. “He’s fine. Just fine. There was a terrible battle. He fought like a dragon. The…the hawk was struck. But you knew that.”

“Yes,” he replied sadly.

“Are you flesh? Or are you spirit?”

“I am sorrow.” The man closed his eyes and turned his head away.

Gwaine stepped backwards, wanting to leave the broken man. He gained the door and bumped into Morgana.

“You!” she said.

“I’m sorry.”

She shoved him out of the room. “This time, stay out!” she hissed before locking the door behind him.

“It’s all right,” she said as she reached the man. She reached out a hand and touched his shoulder. He turned his head to look at her, hurt and betrayal in his eyes. “I will make this right,” she said.

He nodded and closed his eyes.

She set up her supplies and began her work, treating the wound with herbs as she chanted. When the moment was right, she pulled the arrow from his shoulder, cringing as he let out a roaring shout of pain.  
*****

Nimueh sat up, a scream caught in her throat as she awoke from a horrible nightmare. Gasping, she pulled back the curtains around her bed. She nearly screamed again as she saw Morgause standing there. The woman’s blonde hair stuck out around her head in a halo of ringlets and leaves. “I have something for you.” 

Nimueh, although powerful in her own right, had a healthy respect for the wild magic and rough bearing of the other woman. She therefore quickly wrapped her robe around herself and followed Morgause through the castle and down to the courtyard.

Morgause led the priestess to her cart, throwing back a tarp to reveal a dozen bloody pelts.

Nimueh stepped close and examined each one. She turned to Morgause with a look of disgust. “These pelts are useless.”

“I can’t kill every wolf!” Morgause protested. “There are more wolves than men in those woods.”

Nimueh took a deep breath before replying. “There is a man. A beautiful man with pitch black hair and blue eyes.” Her attention snapped back to Morgause. “Find him and you find the wolf. The wolf I want. The wolf who…loves him. It is a black wolf,” she said before sweeping toward the stairs.

“Does this man have a name?”

Nimueh stopped and looked down at him, a small smile on her lips.

“Merlin.”  
*****

After Morgana had removed the arrow, Merlin fell unconscious. It made things easier for her; she wasn’t sure she could keep her wits about her with him staring at her with those hurt eyes. Once she was sure the wound was properly treated and he would sleep the night through, she left him alone.

She followed the smell of a fire and found Gwaine seated next to a cooking fire, a partridge roasting on a spit. She spotted a jug of her special brew on the ground beside him and lifted an eyebrow. He calmly handed her a goblet he had already poured for her. She took it without a word and sat down next to him. She shivered slightly as she heard a wolf howl.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Gwaine asked. “The wolf. Somehow, it’s him.”

“It is,” she confirmed, staring into the flames.

“How? I mean, I believe in…many things. But this…” he trailed off and took a drink.

“Arthur used to be Captain of the Guard in Camelot. His family had ruled Camelot for generations, but his father had been broken by life and defeats in battle. Camelot was ripe for the plucking; the people needed to turn to something to mend their lives. Nimueh, High Priestess, was their saving grace. She chose to leave Arthur in his position, a way to ease the transition with those who remembered the Pendragons’ history fondly. And while her former bodyguard, Mordred, chafed under Arthur’s command, things moved along smoothly.”

She paused to take a long pull from her goblet. “And then Nimueh started taking in magical people to train.” She laughed harshly. “I was so proud to be chosen; my abilities were something I had to keep under control in Uther’s court. I excelled under Nimueh’s tutelage. There was only one who surpassed me. Merlin.”

Gwaine turned and looked over his shoulder.

“Oh, he seems like an ordinary man now, but that’s just the curse. Merlin is an amazing sorcerer. He has power…” She shook her head. “There aren’t words.”

“I’m sorry. Curse?”

“Merlin was the best and brightest and most powerful of us,” she continued. “Nimueh was enraptured with him. But there was another who had captured Merlin’s heart. Nimueh knew this, and tried everything she could to find out who it was. To eliminate the woman who stood in her way.” She snorted. “She never considered that she was looking amongst the wrong group of denizens in Camelot.”

“Arthur.”

“She never guessed. She never would have known, had it not been for Beltane. At Beltane, they allowed themselves to give into their feelings in honor of the Goddess…”

~~~~~  
 _Merlin stood with his fellow initiates close to the bonfire. They had performed the sacred rites; allowing the revelry to begin among all the residents of Camelot. He tried to ignore the looks Nimueh kept casting toward him. Even masked, the High Priestess was impossible to mistake for someone else. He turned his head as the bonfire glinted on a golden blond head. He made his way over to the man, recognizing the crooked smile as he held out his hand._

_Merlin took Arthur’s hand and allowed him to lead him away into the forest. Arthur had caught Merlin’s eye months ago; his loud laugh and brash ways had been so different from the life Merlin had known in the country. Arthur could be harsh and cruel and, yes, a bit of a prat. But he was also generous and kind. And while no one could ever accuse Arthur of being a poet, his letters to Merlin had been full of language that stirred his soul and his passions._

_Between Arthur’s status and Merlin’s training, their moments together were few and far between—letters hastily exchanged, brushing fingers and, just once, a fleeting, glorious, bruising kiss. Merlin had fulfilled his responsibilities at the Beltane rites and he had decided that the more private rites would be shared with no one but Arthur._

_Merlin tugged on Arthur’s hand, making the other man pause._

_Arthur turned to look at him. “Here?”_

_Merlin nodded and pulled Arthur to him, taking both of the other man’s hands in his. “Here. Can’t you feel it?”_

_Arthur leaned in to kiss Merlin gently. “No. But I trust you.”_

_Merlin smiled against Arthur’s mouth and kissed him again. He reached up to untie Arthur’s mask. Arthur pulled back, catching the mask before it fell._

_“But, the rites…”_

_Merlin kissed him silent. “The mask is for the ceremony. For this, for us, there should be no masks.” He took off his own as he spoke._

_“No masks. And no clothes,” Arthur said, smiling. He reached for Merlin and began slowly undressing him. He pressed a soft kiss to each patch of bare skin as he revealed it._

_Merlin could barely remain standing against the slow, sensual assault. He slid his hands into Arthur’s hair to guide him. Arthur closed his mouth over Merlin’s nipple, biting gently. Merlin let out a harsh groan as his knees finally gave way. Arthur stepped back, lowering Merlin gently to his knees. He quickly stripped off his own clothes and made a small nest of padding for them. He knelt in front of Merlin and pulled him tightly against his body._

_Merlin gasped sharply as his naked flesh finally touched Arthur’s. The other man’s skin was warm and tempting, the hair on his chest dragging pleasantly against Merlin’s nipples. He wrapped his legs around Arthur’s waist, deciding he was through letting Arthur take the lead. This was_ his _night, after all._

_A startled, “Mmf!” came out of Arthur’s mouth as he pressed one hand back to the ground to steady them. The other wrapped around Merlin’s waist, trying to slow down the other man’s apparent desire to crawl inside of him. Merlin’s hands seemed to be everywhere—stroking his chest, clutching at his shoulder and sliding down to—_

_“Wait,” Arthur gasped as Merlin’s hand closed around his cock._

_“No,” Merlin said, pushing Arthur down until he was lying flat in the nest of clothes. Merlin followed him down, shifting his legs so that he sat astride Arthur’s thighs. “This is my night. I’ve waited enough.”_

_Arthur laughed softly, then groaned as Merlin’s hands traced down his chest, pausing to gently tweak his nipples. “Merlin,” he groaned._

_Merlin lifted up on his knees, squeezing Arthur’s hips but otherwise not touching him. He whispered something and reached back behind him._

_“Merlin, what?”_

_“Shh,” he said, pressing a finger on his free hand against Arthur’s lips. “Touch me,” he whispered._

_Arthur reached a hand up, gently tracing his fingers over Merlin’s features. He caressed the sharp cheekbones and slid his fingers across Merlin’s full lips, gasping as Merlin bit at the tips of his fingers. Merlin tilted his head down and met Arthur’s gaze as he took Arthur’s finger into his mouth, suckling it. He smiled wickedly around the digit as Arthur groaned._

_Merlin released Arthur’s finger and reached behind him to hold Arthur steady as he slowly slid down on his cock. Arthur moaned and arched his back, his neck bent at an almost unnatural angle. He curled his toes into the grass as he fought to keep from slamming his hips up into Merlin._

_Merlin was chanting, breathing words that came to him as he took Arthur fully inside him. He tilted his head back, looking up at the full moon shining down on them. He finished his prayer and looked down at Arthur._

_“Arthur-mine,” he said softly as he began to move. He braced his hands on Arthur’s chest, teasing him with lightly scratching nails and pressing fingers as he set his rhythm._

_“More,” Arthur said, wrapping his hands over the tops of Merlin’s thighs. He traced Merlin’s hipbones lightly as he tried to gain leverage to thrust harder into the warm heat wrapped around him._

_Merlin teased him, sliding up until Arthur almost left his body, then slowly sliding back down. He denied Arthur the fast, deep thrusts he knew the other man craved. He could feel the passion in his partner; feel it like sparks dancing over his skin._

_Arthur growled and sat up, holding Merlin tightly to him. Merlin’s gasp turned into a shout of pleasure as Arthur bit down on his collarbone. Merlin clutched at Arthur’s shoulders, holding on for dear life as Arthur flipped them over and pressed Merlin into the ground._

_“My Merlin,” Arthur said, his face pressed against Merlin’s throat._

_“Yours. Please,” Merlin begged. He wrapped one leg around Arthur’s waist and planted his other foot on the ground so he could meet Arthur’s thrusts._

_Arthur took Merlin’s mouth in a fierce kiss as he began a fast, deep rhythm. Merlin reached above his head, finding an exposed tree root and wrapping his hands around it for leverage. Arthur tore his mouth away, leaning up to gain a better angle. He watched Merlin’s face contort in passion as he hit that spot inside him._

_“Arthur!” Merlin screamed as he began to come, spilling thick and hot over their bellies._

_Arthur buried his face in Merlin’s neck, crying out his own passion as he released deep inside Merlin. He felt something warm and sharp wash over his body, dancing across his flesh as Merlin shuddered beneath him._

_Merlin cried out one last time, sure he felt the ground shudder beneath him._  
~~~~~

“I can’t believe you watched them,” Gwaine said, shaking his head.

Morgana turned to look at him. “You don’t understand. I didn’t mean to; I just wanted to see why they were leaving together. But they started and it was just…magical. I couldn’t look away. I _had_ to see them finish.”

“And then?”

“I slipped away back to the revelry. I drank and I danced and I found myself at Nimueh’s side. She said she had felt a powerful surge of magic and wanted to know if I knew anything about it.”

Gwaine breathed in sharply. 

Her eyes filled with tears. “I betrayed them. I was Merlin’s friend and Arthur’s sister and I betrayed them to Nimueh. I told her everything and watched her eyes grow dark with rage before she disappeared into the woods. She found them curled up together just after the sun rose. They awoke to her screaming an incantation at them. Merlin transformed into a hawk in front of my eyes. Arthur grabbed his clothes and ran. I managed to distract Nimueh with questions long enough to allow him to return to his rooms and gather his belongings before escaping. She banished me here. Not that I didn’t deserve it,” she said, forgoing her goblet to drink directly from the jug.

“The curse?” Gwaine prompted.

“Did you know, hawks and wolves mate for life? They are forever together and eternally apart. By day, Merlin is the hawk and Arthur is himself. At night, Merlin regains his human form and Arthur is the wolf you hear howling. Never able to touch; never able to do more than catch an ephemeral fleeting glimpse at the split seconds at sunrise and sunset. Nimueh made it clear; if she couldn’t have Merlin, then no one could.” She took another drink. 

“Always together. Eternally apart,” she repeated. “And I helped her do it.”

Gwaine sat silently as Morgana stared into the fire.

“I’m going to bed. There is a room beside Merlin’s; you can sleep in there,” she said, standing. She took the jug with her as she disappeared into the castle.  
*****

Merlin awoke slowly, the throbbing in his shoulder letting him know the arrow had been removed. He rolled his head on the pillow, trying to get comfortable. He whimpered as the movement caused him to shift his shoulder, pulling at the wound.

“Careful,” said a voice. 

Merlin opened his eyes to see Arthur’s traveling companion sitting in a chair beside his pallet. The other man’s eyes were full of a sympathetic curiosity.

“Don’t move; you’ll start bleeding again,” he continued.

“Tell me your name,” Merlin said, his voice raspy.

“Gwaine,” the other man said, holding a cup of water to Merlin’s lips and helping him drink.

“You travel with him, don’t you?”

“I do. It’s complicated.”

Merlin nodded. “Things with Arthur usually are,” he said sadly.

“‘You must save this hawk,’ he said. ‘For he is my life. My last and best reason for living’,” Gwaine quoted.

Merlin smiled softly. He doubted Arthur had been so eloquent, but he was desperate for something that even sounded like his love.

“And then he said, ‘One day, we will know such happiness as two people dream of, but never do.’”

“He said that?”

Gwaine stared directly into Merlin’s eyes. “I swear it on my life.”

Merlin let out a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

Gwaine nodded. “You should get some sleep. I just wanted to check on you before I went to bed.”

Merlin smiled and waited until Gwaine had left to close his eyes.


	3. Part III

**Part III**  
Gwaine only managed a few hours’ sleep before he was up and wandering the castle. He had nightmares about magic and curses and never being able to lay hands upon the one he loved. As he reached the western parapet, he saw Morgana sitting on the wall.

“Does he know?” Gwaine asked as he sat beside her. “That you are the one who betrayed them?”

“He knows. Merlin always knew,” she replied. “And Arthur probably saw me cowering behind a tree as Nimueh cursed them. His narrow desire for revenge upon her is probably the only thing that has kept him from coming after me. Well, that and I’ve been drunk almost every day since they were cursed. A drunken sorceress is no threat to them,” she said, smiling sadly.

“But, you are his sister. Surely, he wouldn’t—”

She turned to face him, her features sharp and her eyes glinting in the pre-dawn light. “Have you _ever_ loved like that?” she asked, pointing in the direction of Merlin’s room. “There is nothing on this earth he wouldn’t sacrifice to have Merlin back; even his own blood.”

“I’m sorry,” Gwaine said.

She smiled. “But, this night, the Goddess has given me a vision. She has told me how to break the curse. And perhaps, just perhaps, it will enable them to one day forgive me.” She giggled. “A night without a day; a day without a night!”

Gwaine looked at her skeptically. “Perhaps it was not so much vision as inebriation. A knight without a dame, perhaps?”

Morgana punched him solidly in the arm. “Do _not_ mock my power! She has not granted me a vision since the night I betrayed them. I know a vision when it comes, especially after such a long absence. No, the time comes for Arthur to confront Nimueh and free Merlin and himself from this horrible curse.”

“Arthur already intends to confront Nimueh. He’s going to return to Camelot and kill her,” he said, rubbing his arm.

“He can’t do that! If he kills Nimueh, then the curse goes on forever!”

Gwaine opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by the sound of approaching hoof beats. He and Morgana looked to see a contingent of Camelot’s guards heading for the castle.

Morgana quickly scrambled down, pulling Gwaine with her. “Go, get Merlin and _hide_. I’ll do what I can to hold them off.”

Gwaine nodded and ran for Merlin’s room. 

Merlin startled awake as Gwaine stormed into his room. “What is it?”

“Shh! Come with me!”

Merlin gingerly stood up, adjusting the night shift so it hung below his bony knees. He took Gwaine’s hand and allowed the other man to lead him out of the room.

“Lady Morgana!”

Gwaine and Merlin froze as they heard the guard’s raised voice. Gwaine put his finger over his lips and crouched down, urging Merlin to do the same. They carefully scurried into one of the towers, listening to Morgana’s exchange with the guards as they went.

“What are you doing here?” Morgana shouted down.

“We know you are harboring fugitives from Camelot!”

“All I am harboring is ire against some loud knights interrupting my slumber!”

“Lower the drawbridge.”

Morgana rolled her eyes and did as they asked. 

The guards rushed across and into the courtyard. Three of them started up the stairs, screaming as the stairs disintegrated beneath them, plunging them far to the ground.

“Oh, walk on the left side,” she admonished.

The remaining three guards made it safely to the walkway where Morgana lounged. She lifted an eyebrow as she realized Valiant led them. “Valiant. Still hoping for a place of honor?”

With a tilt of his head, he indicated to his men to continue searching the castle. He walked over to Morgana, leering. “Oh, I am hoping for a place, milady.”

Morgana lifted a sword from behind her. “You can search the grounds for whatever you like, but leave me be. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten that my brother trained me?”

Valiant stepped back, more interested in finding Nimueh’s prey than parrying with Morgana.

Gwaine and Merlin ran up a spiraling staircase which ended beneath a trapdoor. Gwaine muscled it open, pushing Merlin up through in front of him. He heard the guards too close behind them and scrambled up after Merlin. He let out a shout of surprise as one of the guards grabbed his foot. He kicked out, catching the guard in the face and knocking him into his comrade. He quickly pulled himself completely onto the roof and slammed the trap door behind him. He sat on it, looking around for their options.

“Damn,” he cursed, realizing they were at the top of a tower. Merlin was across from him, looking down over the edge.

“We could maybe climb down. Or die horribly trying,” Merlin said.

“Find something to hold down the—shit!”

The guards had pushed on the trapdoor as one, shoving Gwaine up off of it and careening into Merlin, who fell over the side of the wall.

“No!” Gwaine screamed, going after him. He looked over the edge to see Merlin hanging on by the tips of his fingers. “Hold on!” he called. He reached over and managed to snag one of Merlin’s wrists, using his other hand and feet for balance.

The guards had been momentarily stunned when the trapdoor had slammed down, but were now coming through the door.

“Gwaine,” Merlin said as he started to slip out of the other man’s grip.

“Don’t you let go!”

“You, there! Get on your knees!” the guards shouted.

“Gwaine!” Merlin shouted as he lost his hold and fell toward the ground.

“No!”

Gwaine stared, horrified, as Merlin fell. Then, just as it seemed he would have to inform Arthur of the death of his beloved, the rays of the rising sun struck Merlin. Gwaine was temporarily blinded. When he opened his eyes, he saw the hawk flying away, cawing angrily. Gwaine slumped in relief, never more grateful for magic in his life.

“Where is he?” Valiant shouted, grabbing Gwaine’s shoulder. He had reached the tower roof in time to hear Gwaine shouting.

“He flew away!” Gwaine said.

Valiant struck him.

“I’m telling the truth! He flew away!” 

Valiant pushed him toward the guards roughly. “Bind him. He returns to Camelot for execution.”

Gwaine tripped and fell. There was a whistling sound followed by a shout. Gwaine looked up in time to see one of the guards clutching at a crossbow bolt in his neck as he fell solidly into his comrade. With a scream, they both tumbled over the edge.

Valiant whirled around to see Arthur standing on the walkway, crossbow in his hands. 

Gwaine took the opportunity presented to him and rushed Valiant, knocking the man over the edge. He waved to Arthur. “Your timing could use some work, sir!” he shouted.  
*****

Gwaine checked his bag one last time to be sure he had everything he would need, then hurried to rejoin Arthur and Morgana. He slowed his pace as he saw them; Arthur astride his horse, staring down at Morgana. 

“I have often wished you dead, Morgana. But now I find I am grateful to you. For this,” he said, indicating the hawk on his arm.

“I am the grateful one, Arthur. I finally have the chance to speak with you.”

“I don’t want to hear apol—”

“I’m not apologizing, Arthur! I mean, I will, but…Arthur, I know how to break the curse!”

“As do I. I am on my way to Camelot; to rid the world of Nimueh. Perhaps it will bring me peace.”

“It will not! But there is a way, Arthur. All you have to do is stand in front of Nimueh, the both of you, as men.”

“That is impossible,” Arthur scoffed.

“As long as there is night and day, yes. But in three days’ time, there will be a night without a day and a day without a night. You must both stand in front of Nimueh at that time and the curse will be broken. You and Merlin will be saved!”

“Crawl back into your herbs and mead, Morgana. You are talking nonsense.”

“It is not nonsense! The Goddess has forgiven me! She has shown me a way to help you.”

“She hasn’t forgiven you, Morgana. She has driven you mad,” he said softly.

Morgana’s face crumpled in defeat. “Arthur,” she said sadly.

Arthur just shook his head and started to turn Brego toward the road.

Gwaine dropped his bag hurried over to them. “Sir!” he said.

Arthur paused. “Gwaine. I release you from my service. I thank you for everything.”

“Thank you, Arthur. May I ask, where are you and m’lord Merlin going?”

“To Camelot.”

“I see. Well, as it happens, my path is taking me there as well. Could I trouble you for your company?”

Arthur smiled; he liked the thief and it was nice to have someone to talk to who could answer him. “Get your things. We have much road to cover.”

Gwaine ran and grabbed his bag. He paused beside Morgana, for all the world looking like he was just bidding her farewell. “Follow us,” he whispered. “I will make him agree to hear you out.”

“Gwaine, he is a stubborn man.”

“I am very persuasive,” he replied with a smirk. He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, then ran to catch up with Arthur.  
*****

They rode hard for most of the day, stopping just before sunset at a small village on the edge of a dark wood.

Arthur arranged with an innkeeper for Brego to stay in the stables with Gwaine looking after him.

“What if Morgana is right?” Gwaine asked softly as he unsaddled Brego.

Arthur turned from where he had been removing Merlin’s clothes from the saddlebag. “She is not. And you won’t speak of it any more. Not to me; and certainly not to Merlin. Are we clear?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Good. Have a good night. Do try to keep the two of you out of trouble.”

Gwaine nodded and watched the knight stroll casually into the woods. “Never have been that good at following orders,” he muttered.

The hawk chattered at him.

“Yes, yes, I know. Modest privacy and all that. I’ll go see if I can’t find us some dinner,” Gwaine said. 

He exited the stables and cursed as the skies opened up with rain. He ran into the inn and made eyes at the comely server, who packed up a nice dinner for him. He then told her a sob story about having lost his pack in the river and managed to strike a bargain for new clothes for himself and Merlin. He hurried back to the stables and left Merlin’s clothes out for him, then moved to an empty stall further down the way to change into his own clothes and await Merlin’s transformation.

“Gwaine?” Merlin asked a few minutes later.

“Merlin! How is your shoulder?” Gwaine asked as he returned to the stall.

“Very well, thank you. Are you responsible for these?” he asked, waving his hand at the cream shirt and black trousers.

“Yes. I thought you could use some fresh clothes. Although, I didn’t expect you to keep the neckerchief.”

Merlin blushed and fingered the material. “Arthur used to tease me about this. I feel closer to him wearing it.”

Gwaine coughed to cover his embarrassment. “I obtained some dinner for us.”

“Did you steal it?”

“No. But I did purchase it with stolen gold,” he said, flashing Merlin a smile.

Merlin laughed.

They settled down to a nice meal, listening to the music coming from the inn. Merlin kept catching Gwaine shooting him looks, but let it go until they had finished eating.

“What is it, Gwaine?”

“It’s silly.”

Merlin smiled. “I enjoy silly things.”

“Morgana said you were extremely powerful. Why, then, don’t you break the curse yourself?”

“I can’t use my magic anymore. Nimueh bound my magic as part of her curse. It’s like I’m trapped in glass—I can see and feel magic all around me. I can hear it calling to me, but I can’t touch it.”

“I’m truly sorry.”

Merlin shrugged.

“What if…” Gwaine began.

“What if what?”

“What if there was a way to end the curse?”

“Has Arthur found a way?” Merlin asked, excited.

“Not Arthur. Morgana.”

“And Arthur agrees with her?”

“Not exactly.”

“Of course. They never could see eye to eye. Even before…” Merlin shook himself. “We are out of wine, my friend.”

Gwaine stood and reached to help Merlin up. “Then we shall have to venture to the inn to remedy that.” He turned and picked up Arthur’s sword, awkwardly fastening it about his waist.

Merlin lifted an eyebrow at him. “Are you to be my fierce protector now?”

“Well, without your magic, you are a wisp of a thing.”

Merlin glared at him.

“And as you will one day have your magic back and I don’t want to be turned into anything untoward, I will merely state that I am afraid the sword may be stolen if left unattended. For that, Arthur would kill me.”

“You are wise beyond your looks, Gwaine.”

Gwaine cuffed him on the back of the head. “We shall have to run to avoid getting drenched.”

“After you,” Merlin said, holding open the stable door.

Gwaine followed him closely and they laughed as they sprinted through the rain, slipping in the mud. 

Merlin drew up short with a scream as a woman on a large warhorse appeared in front of them. Gwaine slammed into Merlin’s back.

“What is it, Merlin?” Gwaine asked.

“Merlin? I have been looking for you,” the woman said. She turned her horse to show the pelt of a black wolf slung over the back of it.

“No!” Merlin shouted, horrified.

Gwaine shoved Merlin behind him and raised Arthur’s sword to the woman. “Ride on. If you try to _touch_ him, I will end you.”

The woman laughed and rode into the woods.

Gwaine sighed in relief and turned to soothe Merlin. He panicked momentarily when he saw the young man was no longer behind him. His panic turned quickly to terror as Merlin shot out of the stables astride Brego, riding fast into the woods. Cursing vehemently, he ran after him.

Merlin leaned over Brego’s neck, riding the stallion for all he was worth. He had never been particularly good on horseback, but his desire to catch the woman made him surprisingly able. He pulled Brego to a sharp halt as he reached a clearing. He saw the warhorse tied to a tree on the far side. He slid off the back of the horse and made his way slowly to the horse, wanting to see if the pelt really was…Arthur. If it was, he would kill the trapper with his bare hands. If it wasn’t…well, he’d make sure she never got near Arthur; magic or no magic.

Lightning speared a tree near him, shearing a branch off. As the branch landed on the ground, Merlin heard the unmistakable _SNAP_ of a wolf trap. Merlin swallowed hard and searched the treeline.

“Show yourself, coward!” he shouted, drawing the small dagger he kept at his waist while in human form.

“That little blade against me?” came a menacing voice from behind him.

Merlin jumped and turned, stumbling. He fell to the ground, dropping his dagger. It landed in another wolf trap, triggering it.

“Merlin. You are as pretty as they say,” she said, advancing on him.

A terrifying snarl interrupted her. 

“It’s true,” she gasped, seeing the large shape coming slowly toward her.

“No,” Merlin breathed, terrified Arthur would step in one of the traps.

The wolf moved deceptively slowly, carefully placing its paws at is came toward them, snarling.

Morgause was mesmerized and realized too late that she should be running. The wolf leapt at her, landing just shy of where she stood, scaring her into jumping back. She screamed as one of her traps closed over her leg, snapping through her ankle. She swung her arms for a moment, trying to remain upright, before falling over. Another trap snapped shut, digging into her neck.

Merlin shouted in horror as the woman bled out.

Gwaine put on another burst of speed as he heard Merlin shout. He reached the clearing to see Merlin on his knees, his arms wrapped around the neck of the black wolf and his face buried in its fur. Gwaine sighed with relief, doubling over to catch his breath. He carefully picked his way over to Merlin and the wolf, stopping a short distance away when the wolf let out a small growl.

“That was too close,” Merlin said, lifting his head to look Gwaine in the eye.

Gwaine nodded, knowing there was nothing he could say.  
*****

“What are these?!”

Gwaine snapped awake at the sound of Arthur’s angry voice. He sat up and looked down at the bundle of clothes Arthur had flung at his chest.

“I presume you want something more detailed than ‘clothes’?” he asked, standing. He must have been more exhausted than he thought by the previous night’s activities; he hadn’t even heard Arthur enter the barn.

“Gwaine,” Arthur growled and Gwaine had to bite back a smirk at how much he sounded like the wolf.

“I thought Merlin could use some fresh clothes. You’re a soldier; you’re used to wearing the same clothes for days on end. I had a feeling Merlin might have different tastes.”

“Did he say something about his clothes?” Arthur asked, worried.

“No. And he insisted on wearing that neckerchief because it reminded him of you.”

Arthur smiled. “I’m sorry about the way I woke you.”

“I understand. I’d want to rip my head off, too.”

“Gwaine…” he trailed off.

“Yes?”

“Every moment you spend with him…I envy you.”

“I know, my friend. He was sad at first, without you. But he has hope that this will end soon and he will be back in your arms.”

The sadness started to leave Arthur’s face.

“He loves you more than life, Captain. He’s had to.”

“And if you’d listen to me, you’d be in each other’s arms in two days,” said a voice behind them.

Arthur sighed and turned to see Morgana standing in the doorway to the barn. “Not more of this nonsense.”

“You can’t kill Nimueh, Arthur. In two days’ time, you can stand before her with Merlin at your side, breaking this horrible curse!” She smiled. “ _Then_ you can kill her.”

“We will be in Camelot tomorrow, Morgana.”

“What difference does one day make after all this time?” Gwaine asked.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Not you, too. What kind of tale did she weave for you under a starry sky?”

“A beautiful tale of two lovers betrayed. And she wants to make reparations,” Gwaine replied.

“She can’t. I’ve released you once already, Gwaine. Now I’m ordering you to stay.”

“You’ll never get back inside without me!”

“I will find a way,” Arthur said, mounting Brego. He rode away without a backward glance.

“Thank you for trying, Gwaine,” Morgana said, putting her hand on his arm. “And for standing up for the truth.”

“Serves me right. Every happy moment I’ve had in my life has come from lying.”


	4. Part IV

**Part IV**  
Gwaine waited until night had truly fallen before approaching the campsite Arthur had set up. He and Morgana had followed Arthur at a discreet distance, aided a bit by Morgana’s magic. They knew they needed to convince Merlin that Morgana’s vision was true in order to have a chance at persuading Arthur. As they rode, they tried to formulate a plan to see if they could break the curse before Arthur reached Camelot.

“Merlin?” Gwaine said softly.

Merlin jumped and looked over his shoulder. “Ah, I was wondering where you were. Have you seen my dagger? I retrieved it from the trap last night, but I don’t remember where I put it.”

“Merlin, we must talk. This may be our last night together.”

“Mm-hm,” Merlin said absently as he continued his search.

“I didn’t want to tell you until I believed. I’m not sure if I completely believe, but I know we have to try. It’s worth it to try.”

“Try what?” Merlin asked, confused.

“We have a plan.”

“We?” 

Morgana stepped into the clearing. “Please, Merlin. Hear us out.”

“He’s told you no, hasn’t he?”

“He has. But Merlin, if he does it his way, you will surely be doomed forever. With our plan…you at least have a chance.”

“Tell me.”  
*****

“Could you please lift your arms a little higher?” Gwaine said.

“What?” Morgana asked without pausing in her digging.

“Lift your arms higher, please. I’d rather your elbows stab my kidneys than something I would like to be able to use again at some future point.”

“What?” she asked, turning to him. She blew a tendril of hair out of her face.

“Your elbow is hitting me in a vital and tender place.”

“Oh!” she said, realization dawning. “Sorry.”

Gwaine nodded and returned to his digging. They were fighting the dawn, trying to get the pit dug to trap Arthur.

“I don’t see why I have to do the digging anyway,” Morgana muttered.

“Because Merlin is keeping watch for Arthur. Unless you want to take the chance that he may react badly to you in wolf form?”

Morgana nodded, agreeing with Gwaine’s logic.

“He’s coming,” Merlin said quietly.

Morgana and Gwaine lifted their heads to look. The wolf was coming toward them.

“He’s coming across the ice,” Morgana said.

“That won’t hold,” Gwaine said, tossing down his shovel and leaping out of the pit.

No sooner had Gwaine’s feet touched down than they heard the unmistakable sound of ice cracking.

“Arthur!” Merlin shouted as the wolf started to yelp, scrabbling uselessly against the ice as it started to sink. 

Morgana reached up and grabbed his ankle, pulling him down before he could race onto the ice after his lover.

Merlin shouted and kicked at her, but Morgana held fast. She knew Arthur would rather die than lose Merlin.

As Morgana and Merlin tussled, Gwaine swept up the coil of rope they had laid out next to the pit and slung it over his shoulder. He hurried over to Brego and pulled Arthur’s sword out of its scabbard.

“Let him help!” Gwaine snapped at Morgana.

She immediately let go, turning her attention to pulling herself out of the pit.

Gwaine tied one end of the rope to the sword and pushed it into Merlin’s hands. “Thrust this down into the turf. It’ll have to anchor me.” He took the other end of the rope in his hand and ran toward the wolf, trying to step as lightly as possible.

Merlin shoved the sword into the ground with all his strength, wishing desperately for his magic. Morgana’s hands closed over his, lending her strength.

“We’re on the edge of the ice,” she said.

Merlin made to pull the sword out and move, but she stopped him.

“Look.”

Merlin turned his head to see Gwaine in the water with the wolf, swearing as it clawed at him in its attempts to get out of the water.

“If you pull it out now, we lose them both,” she said to Merlin.

Merlin watched with his heart in his throat as Gwaine fought with and for the wolf. He finally managed to get his hands beneath it and lift it onto the ice, shoving it toward Merlin and Morgana. It ran to Merlin, whimpering softly as it nuzzled the young man. Merlin pulled the wolf back onto land and toward the fire.

Morgana scurried onto the ice, helping the bleeding and exhausted Gwaine out of the water. They had barely made it onto land before a loud crack sounded behind him. Gwaine watched in horror as Arthur’s sword sank into the water.

“He’ll kill me,” Gwaine muttered, huddled against Morgana.

She pressed a kiss to his cold temple. “I’ll protect you.”  
*****

Morgana sat watching the pit they had dug. Gwaine was sleeping fitfully beside her, his head resting in her lap. To keep herself grounded, she kept running her fingers through his hair, trying to soften the frigid strands. She could tell the sun would be rising soon; then, they would see if all they had risked that night had been worth it. Her fingers tightened on Gwaine’s hair as she thought about what it would mean for the curse to be broken. She would gain back the Goddess’ favor and Arthur _might_ , some day, forgive her. 

Gwaine grunted mildly in his sleep at the sudden rough treatment of his hair.

“Shh,” Morgana soothed. She loosened her grip and continued to watch the horizon, waiting for the sun to rise.

Merlin lay in the pit, curled as close to the sleeping wolf as he dared. His poor love was exhausted, but Merlin wasn’t fool enough to think that meant he wasn’t dangerous. He was pressed along the wolf’s back, his fingers tangled in the fur along its flank, wishing it were the smooth, golden skin of Arthur’s side.

He sighed, shifting slightly to get more comfortable on the cold ground. He slid his hand up the wolf’s flank, allowing the coarse fur to funnel through his fingers. His breath caught as he bent his knuckles; a pale shaft of light streaked across the sharp bones. He quickly flattened his hand and slid down, trying to get as close to the ground as possible. The wolf started to twitch, whining in its sleep. Merlin pulled his hand up and away, worried that he’d spook the wolf. The swiftness of his movement lifted his body off the ground a few inches, and he stared in horror as the light from the rising sun streamed between his fingers. He choked back a sob.

Morgana gently shook Gwaine awake and stood, having seen Merlin move. She rose and took a few steps forward, wanting desperately for Merlin to lie back down, but afraid to speak for fear he’d move further into the light. She felt more than heard Gwaine come to stand behind her. He had said he believed but didn’t want to believe; now, he’d see magic in all its glory, twisted though it was.

Merlin watched as the wolf began to glow in the sunlight. The fur started to recede and he caught a glimpse of golden skin. The light brightened and in the blink of an eye, Arthur was lying in the pit, firm muscle and taut skin bared to Merlin’s yearning eyes. 

_Please_ , he thought, staring hard at Arthur’s broad back.

Arthur opened his eyes, coming back to himself quickly. He was naked; that was usual. He was in a hole; that was different. He was—he cut himself off as he caught Merlin’s scent. _Please_ , he thought, quickly turning over. He only got a brief glimpse of Merlin, clad in his own cloak, his eyes glowing. Arthur reached out, desperate to touch Merlin after so long not being close enough.

Merlin put his hand over his mouth, gasping in joy as he saw Arthur reaching for him. He winced as pain shot through him and then he knew nothing.

“NO!”

Morgana winced, stepping back into Gwaine’s warmth. It hadn’t been a shout or a scream they had just heard; it was a roar of sheer anguish. Tears came to her eyes as she watched Arthur pound his fists into the frozen ground.

The hawk flew high, searching for its breakfast.  
*****

Gwaine sat near the fire, shivering slightly. He had the horrible fear that he would never be warm again. Morgana sat across from him, staring into the flames. By unspoken agreement, they had left Arthur alone to get dressed and mourn. Being that close and then grasping only empty air had to have been like losing Merlin all over again.

Gwaine yelped as he was jerked to his feet from behind. He was swung around and came face-to-face with a furious Arthur.

“Where is my sword?” Arthur said.

“It…it’s…”

Arthur shook him hard. “Where is my father’s sword?”

“It fell through the ice!”

Arthur threw him to the ground. “You let my father’s sword fall through the ice?” he yelled, advancing on Gwaine.

Gwaine, for his part, was moving away from Arthur as fast as he could using only his heels and elbows. As he moved, he lost the blanket he had had about him and his shirt laces fell open, revealing his chest.

Arthur froze. Gwaine’s exposed chest was crisscrossed with claw marks. Marks which could only have come from a wolf. “How—how did that happen?” he asked softly.

Morgana had run to them and had shouted at Arthur as he yelled at Gwaine, trying to separate the men. Arthur had been unable to hear her over the roaring anger in his ears and Gwaine had been too terrified to acknowledge anything but Arthur.

“He got those last night, saving _your life_!” Morgana bellowed at Arthur.

Arthur finally tore his gaze away from the wounds to Morgana’s face. She was glaring at him even as she helped Gwaine to his feet. Arthur stepped carefully forward to help her. He tugged Gwaine’s blanket from the ground and wrapped it around the other man’s shoulders.

“I am sorry,” Arthur said softly.

Gwaine nodded. After seeing what Arthur had gone through that morning, he was willing to forgive Arthur a multitude of sins.

“Arthur,” Morgana said softly. “Merlin believes us. Merlin trusts us. It almost worked,” she said, gesturing toward the pit.

Arthur nodded, then reached out to squeeze Gwaine’s and Morgana’s shoulders. “Come on. I’ll show you idiots how to trap a wolf.”  
*****

Morgana tried very hard to refrain from fidgeting on the seat of the cart. She was worried about being recognized; her exile from Camelot had been rather memorable. She smiled softly as she felt a hand encircle her wrist and squeeze gently. Merlin, heavily cloaked beside her on the seat, was offering all the comfort he could. Nodding, she took a deep breath and urged the horses closer to the drawbridge’s guard post. 

She decided the Goddess must be smiling down on her when she realized she recognized neither of the guards.

“Well, well, what have we here?” the first guard said, leering at her.

On second thought, the Goddess was apparently not quite done doling out punishment.

“Tribute for the High Priestess,” Morgana replied.

He licked his lips. “Really?”

He was startled away from her by the snarling of a wolf. He turned to see his comrade had lifted the tarp covering a cage on the cart. Inside was a large black wolf. 

“I’ve never killed a wolf before,” he said.

“Odd. That is exactly what the High Priestess said when she ordered it brought here. I’m sure if you explain to her that you wanted the unique experience, she won’t mind that you took her prize,” Morgana said calmly, lifting an eyebrow.

Both guards stepped back from the cart.

“Thank you,” she said pleasantly as she moved the horses forward, carrying them into the castle keep.  
*****

Gwaine had waited beneath the drawbridge, making sure Merlin and Morgana had made it safely inside before he swam off in search of the drain he’d escaped through only days ago.

_The priestess in my village always said life moved in circles. Mine has apparently come completely around. I prayed to find a way out of this prison, and now I must pray I can get in to save my friends_ , he thought as he swam.

Keeping his head down and his strokes silent, he finally found the spot he had surfaced upon his escape. He sent a final silent prayer, took a deep breath and swam back into the sewers of Camelot.


	5. Part V

**Part V**  
Arthur stood in the stables, staring out into the early morning light. His hawk sat perched on his forearm.

“Are you ready?” Morgana asked from beside him.

“I have been waiting for this day for far too long,” he replied.

She put her hand on his arm. “Please, Arthur. Don’t rush in there and slaughter as you go. This curse will be broken today.”

Arthur smiled at her. “Yes, it will.”

“Arthur, please! If you kill Nimueh, the curse never ends. Don’t do that to Merlin. Don’t do it to yourself!”

The hawk ruffled its feathers, squawking. Arthur wasn’t sure it was squawking in protest of their tones or the fact that it was wearing both its hood and its jesses. Arthur quickly placed the hawk on a perch.

“Morgana, I need you to promise me something.”

“What?” she asked warily.

“If the bells to end the morning supplications ring, it will mean I have failed.”

“Oh, Arthur.”

He took his knife off his belt and handed it to her. “Just promise me you’ll make it quick,” he said, nodding at the hawk.

“Arthur, no! I can’t!”

Arthur grabbed her by her shoulders, his fingers digging in. “If I fail, then Merlin will be doomed to a half-life with no hope. Don’t do that to him, Morgana. If you,” he paused to swallow hard. “If you do it while he’s a hawk, he’ll never know.”

Morgana just stared at him with tears in her eyes.

“Please, Morgana,” he said, gentling his grip. “Isn’t it possible that this was the Goddess’ plan all along?”

She shook her head. “But I will not fail you again, Arthur,” she said solemnly, taking the knife from him.

Arthur pressed a kiss to her forehead and released her. He ran his fingers tenderly over the hawk’s back, then turned to get Brego and ride to his fate.  
*****

The bells of the city rang, calling forth the supplicants and the faithful. Nimueh smiled beatifically from her seat on her throne, taking in the pristine ranks of her acolytes. She felt a slight pang in her heart at the absence of Merlin, but she felt confident her people would soon have slain Arthur and Merlin would have no choice but to return to her. With Arthur dead, Merlin would take his rightful place in her court. And in her bed.

She turned her head to nod at Mordred, who in turn signaled to the guards at the door to being allowing entrance to the supplicants.  
*****

Gwaine sent a silent prayer of thanks as he heard people beginning to enter the great hall. He had spent a remarkably uncomfortable night balanced in the shaft beneath one of the grates in the hall. He stifled a groan as he shifted his body, preparing to execute his part of Arthur’s insane plan. An insane plan which he, Morgana and Merlin _might_ have worked to alter so the outcome would be a happy one. Arthur would be furious with them; but he had to be alive in order to be furious. Gwaine was willing to take the fury if it meant they all lived.

He waited until several people had entered the hall to make his move. He was hoping the hustle and bustle of the faithful (and the willing to believe if it meant survival) would cover the sounds he would have to make. Luckily, he had taken time between guard patrols the night before to do most of the noisy scraping work. He clenched his knife between his teeth and began to push up on the grating.

He cursed fluidly and silently as someone moved to stand on the grate, nearly crushing his fingers in the process. He used one hand to keep himself balanced in the shaft as he glared up at the man standing on the grate. He used his free hand to grasp his knife and begin gently stabbing at the soft soles of the man’s shoes.

The man jumped away, muttering about rats to his companion. Gwaine bit his lip to keep from laughing.

He waited a few moments before returning to the work of pushing the grate up. This time, no one was standing in the alcove; he managed to get the grating up and out of the way, and pull himself out of the shaft without anyone noticing. He quickly replaced the grate and found a place to hide behind a pillar. He carefully peered around the pillar, looking for something to wear that would allow him to blend in better than his air-dried clothes. He managed to spot a hooded cloak hanging unused in an adjacent alcove. Keeping his head down, he moved to the alcove and slipped into the cloak. He put the hood up and began mapping his route to the main doors. He knew there would be a padlock there that would need his “expertise”.  
*****

Arthur rode Brego through the nearly-deserted streets of Camelot. Most vendors were in the great hall, hoping their appearance in front of the High Priestess would court favor with the Goddess. It was lean times in Camelot; Nimueh had decided taxing those who would not heel to be the best way to rule. It would be one of the first things he saw set to rights were he able to overcome her and survive to tell the tale.

He rode with a sword in his hand—a sword Morgana had reluctantly given him. She may not have agreed with his intentions, but she wouldn’t send him into the fray unarmed.

He reined in the horse as he came to the large double doors of the great hall. A young guard steered his own horse in front of the doors, blocking his path.

“As one who was once your captain and, Goddess willing, will be again; let me pass!” Arthur demanded.

“Captain Pendragon, we all have our orders,” the young man replied haughtily.

Arthur calmly lifted his arm and struck the other man, causing the guard to lose hold of his weapon. As the guard gaped down at his fallen sword, he felt the press of steel against his throat. “I would recommend forgetting those orders.”

The young lieutenant swallowed hard before bowing his head in defeat. With a gesture to his comrades, he cleared Arthur’s way to the doors.

Arthur lowered his visor and proceeded forward.  
*****

Gwaine cursed every deity and supernatural creature he had ever heard of as the padlock had the audacity to defy him. He knew he had only moments to succeed or Arthur’s grand scheme would meet a spectacularly bloody bad end. He heard the sound of determined movement and realized he had been noticed by one of the guards. He threw up one last prayer and worked faster, hoping he’d free the lock before the guard reached him.

He barked out a laugh as the lock sprang open. He wrenched it off the door and lifted the plank of wood holding the door shut. He pulled the wood up and out of the way, falling to the side of the doors seconds before they flew open, admitting a ruthless-looking Arthur Pendragon astride a lively stallion.

Arthur paused, unaware of how he was framed in the light streaming in through the doorway. Gwaine gained his feet, watching his friend in awe. Arthur turned and nodded his head quickly at Gwaine, who smirked and executed a quick, but deep, bow.

Arthur turned his attention back to the raised dais at the front of the room. Nimueh sat in magenta robes, a silver crown on her head. She smiled, trying to pretend she wasn’t stunned and a little scared at Arthur’s sudden entrance.

Brego’s hooves made raucous clanging noises as they advanced further into the hall. The steady beats paused and tapped out a brief tattoo as Arthur stared down Nimueh’s guards, daring them to challenge him.

Gwaine took in a shocked breath as he watched Mordred step in front of Nimueh, his sword raised in challenge. Arthur nodded his acceptance and dismounted, giving Brego a slap to the rump to send the horse out of the hall.

Nimueh smiled harshly as the men faced off. She may have been afraid of Arthur, but she did have confidence in her protégé’s skill. Without Merlin to back him, Arthur would soon be dead.

As the fight between the two men raged on, it became harder for Nimueh to maintain that confidence. Mordred was fearsome with magic and more than able with a sword, but Arthur Pendragon, who may have been a stump of wood as far as magic went, was the best swordsman Camelot had ever seen. And as Mordred could not cast and fight with a sword at the same time, he was slowly but surely losing his footing against Arthur.

With a roar of frustration, Mordred grabbed at Arthur’s helmet, wrenching it off the other man’s head. He threw it away, releasing some of his pent-up magic. The helmet flew high into the air, arcing to break through one of the stained-glass windows, allowing the day’s weak light to filter into the great hall unobstructed.

As Mordred stared up at the broken window, Arthur took advantage. He punched Mordred solidly in the jaw, then caught him briefly, flinging him to the ground at the feet of the acolytes.

Arthur tightened his grip on his sword and advanced on Nimueh. The High Priestess stayed where she was, but her knuckles were white as she grasped the arms of her throne.

Amidst the chaos, no one noticed a thief slip quickly from the hall.

Arthur let out a startled grunt as he was tackled from behind by Mordred. As soon as he landed on the ground, he twisted in Mordred’s grasp, striking out with fists and feet. Mordred was winded by a blow to the solar plexus. Arthur seized the opportunity and planted his feet in the other man’s stomach, kicking him off and back into a pillar. Mordred’s head made a sickening _thunk_ as it connected with the pillar. 

A peal of thunder distracted Arthur from watching Mordred sink to the floor. He looked out the broken window and saw the dark silhouette of the moon move to cover the sun.

“A night without a day, a day without a night,” he whispered, finally understanding Morgana’s ramblings. He turned to look at Nimueh. She was also looking up, and he could tell from the terror on her face that she, too, recognized the portent glimpsed through the opening in the wall.

“Morgana, wait,” he breathed. Movement high and to his left caught his eye. He saw an acolyte moving toward the bells, most likely with the intent of summoning the guards.

“No!” Arthur cried, but it was too late. The shrill sound of Camelot’s bells echoed through the great hall. Arthur bowed his head, grief clenching his heart. “Morgana, please. Make it quick,” he whispered.

Blocking off the horror of knowing Merlin was now dead, Arthur stood up, holding his sword tightly in his hand.

A shout from behind him alerted him to the fact that Mordred was not, in fact, down for the count. Arthur spun quickly, deflecting the sword aimed at his head. Their swords caught and held and Arthur gave Mordred a cold smile.

“Stand down, Mordred. I have nothing left to lose.”

Mordred’s eyes darkened for a moment and he flung Arthur off, the movement causing Arthur to lose his sword.

“But I have everything to gain,” Mordred replied.

Arthur backed off, assessing Mordred’s movements and trying to figure out how best to disarm the man. He grabbed an urn of incense from an acolyte and flung it at the other man’s head, trying to buy some time.

“Arthur!”

Arthur spun to see Gwaine running toward him, a wrapped bundle in his arms. He quickly unwrapped his package and, seconds later, tossed something to Arthur. With the reflexes of someone trained to knighthood from toddlerhood, Arthur snatched his father’s sword out of the air. He took a moment to revel in the feel of it in his hand, then turned on Mordred.

Gwaine nearly collapsed against a pillar. It had been a hard sprint to Morgana’s cart, where they had hidden Arthur’s sword, and then back to the hall. On the night of the ice disaster, Gwaine had gone back into the water to retrieve the sword, against Morgana’s protests. He knew that, whether Arthur saved himself and Merlin or brought sorrow on them all, the Pendragon scion would need his father’s sword.

Arthur didn’t waste any time on finesse; he simply advanced upon Mordred and killed the other man with a quick, sharp thrust through his heart. At the sight of their leader’s bloodied corpse, Mordred’s troops faded to the background to see what would happen next.

Arthur withdrew his sword from Mordred’s corpse and looked over at Gwaine. The thief gave him a tired smile, which Arthur returned with a nod of gratitude. His appreciation fulfilled, Arthur turned and advanced on Nimueh.

The High Priestess came to her feet, a look of mocking supremacy on her face. She had the audacity to _tsk_ at Arthur.

“But kill me, Arthur, and the curse will go on forever.” She arranged her features in an approximation of sympathy. “You must think of Merlin.”

Arthur let out a bark of cold laughter. “Merlin,” he paused to feel a sliver of his own heartache. “Merlin is _dead_.”

Nimueh’s mask slipped for a moment before she remembered herself. She would not allow this mere man to trick her.

“Damn you,” Arthur said, his voice thick. “Damn you in this life and the next.”

With that fervent prayer, Arthur raised his father’s sword to deliver the killing blow.

“Arthur?”

Arthur froze at his name. It had been so long—so very long—since he had heard that voice. And even now, the voice shook with emotion. It shook so much that he was afraid it was a trick of Nimueh’s. He lowered his sword; even if it wasn’t Merlin, it meant Merlin was dead and he’d rather be dead with Merlin than alive alone.

Arthur turned slowly, his head bowed until he talked himself into swallowing his fear and lifting his head to face the person who had called his name. He gasped in disbelief even as a rush of warmth came over him when he saw the speaker.

“Merlin?” he asked, still not daring to truly hope.

Merlin nodded, unable to speak.

Arthur turned quickly to Nimueh, who had her face buried behind her arm. He ran to her, grabbing her arm and pulling it away from her face.

“Look at him!” Arthur said.

Nimueh shook her head, refusing to look.

“Look at him!” Arthur roared.

Nimueh slowly turned her head. She gasped as she took in Merlin’s lean form standing in the middle of the great hall.

“Look at me.”

Nimueh turned frightened eyes to Arthur.

“Now,” Arthur said, backing away from her slowly, yet keeping his sword aimed at her throat. “Look at _us_.”

Nimueh resolutely kept her gaze glued to Arthur’s face.

“Look at us!” he demanded.

Reluctantly, Nimueh turned her head to take in the pair of them standing in the great hall. A choked sob escaped her mouth.

“It’s broken.”

Gwaine jumped as the sentence was uttered from beside him. He turned to see Morgana standing there, tears in her eyes and a smile on her face. He reached out and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Merlin took careful steps toward his lover. Although he could feel that his magic had returned and was thrumming through him, he was still afraid that this could be snatched away in a moment.

Arthur was finally able to turn away from the despairing Nimueh and toward Merlin. He started walking to his lover, but emotion and the exhaustion of the battle overcame him and he found himself dropping to his knees just as Merlin reached him.

Merlin smiled down at him, his eyes crinkling in a way that caused Arthur to let loose the tears in his eyes. Merlin extended his hand, brushing his fingers across Arthur’s cheek.

Arthur took Merlin’s hand in his, pressing Merlin’s hand to his mouth and placing a reverent kiss against his palm. Merlin gasped at the intimate contact.

Arthur was about to suggest they run—just escape and lose themselves in the wild now that they had the chance—when he looked up and saw Merlin’s features harden. The younger man was no longer looking down at Arthur, but toward the dais where Arthur had left Nimueh kneeling.

Merlin gently tugged his hand from Arthur’s grip and stepped around his lover, walking determinedly toward Nimueh.

A light lit in Nimueh’s eyes as the young sorcerer came toward her. Yes, he had paused at his former lover and endured his touch; but he had also stayed Arthur’s hand when he would have struck her down. And now he was coming toward her with his closed fist over his heart. He was finally returning to her; to resume his training and sit at her right hand.

Merlin stopped in front of her and looked down, his eyes blazing. His magic was back; he could do anything he wanted to her. Instead, he held out his closed fist in front of her face. He opened his fingers and allowed pieces of leather to fall out of them and onto the ground at her knees. The hood and jesses which had played such a large part in his captivity as a hawk. With one sharp nod, he turned on his heel and began walking back toward Arthur. Their reunion had been delayed long enough.

Nimueh’s eyes blazed with hatred as she glared down at the leather. She stood up and fixed her gaze on Arthur. “Then _no one_!” she said darkly, holding her hand out. A small ball of orange flame balanced over her palm.

“Arthur!” Gwaine and Morgana shouted in unison.

Arthur and Merlin turned at the same time. Arthur threw his father’s sword at Nimueh and Merlin gave it a soft push of magic to make sure it would stay on course and get through any shield Nimueh might have time to erect.

The entire assembly gasped as Arthur’s sword pierced through Nimueh’s chest, the force flinging her body back into her throne, the sword stuck through the back. Nimueh coughed once, blood pouring from her lips; her gaze was fixed on Arthur and Merlin as life fled from her eyes.

Merlin let out a noise that was a cross between a cough and a gasp. It was the first time he’d used magic in years and he had never before used it in a lethal way. 

Arthur quickly stood up to see what their power together had done. He was soon distracted from the ruin of Nimueh’s corpse by the sight of Merlin turning to him. He held his arms open to his lover and Merlin quickly walked to him, pausing just short of embracing him. Arthur put his hands on Merlin’s hips, smiling brilliantly at the feel of Merlin’s body beneath his hands once again. Merlin reached up to cup Arthur’s face in his hands.

“Oh, Goddess,” Merlin breathed.

Arthur laughed and leaned forward to snatch a quick kiss from Merlin’s lips. “Merlin,” he whispered. “Merlin. Merlin. Merlin,” he said, pressing kisses to Merlin’s face with each utterance.

“Arthur-mine,” Merlin said, laughing.

Arthur picked Merlin up and spun them around in a circle.

The people in the hall, recognizing they were free of Nimueh, began to applaud. Those who knew the story—or had at least heard the furtive whispers of it—cheered and cried at the sight of the reunited lovers. 

Arthur set Merlin back on his feet, taking Merlin’s lips in a deep, passionate kiss. He was aware that they had an audience and he would have to wait for a more intimate reunion, but he could not longer wait to share breath with his beloved once again. He pulled back to see a flush on Merlin’s cheeks and a smile on his lips.

“You need a haircut; I can barely see your ears,” Arthur said.

Merlin laughed. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

Merlin’s gaze was caught by movement behind Arthur. He squeezed Arthur’s shoulder and nodded for Arthur to turn around.

“You two,” Arthur said.

Gwaine and Morgana, who were trying to make a quiet exit, stopped and turned to face the couple.

“Come here,” Arthur ordered.

Gwaine gave Morgana’s hand a squeeze before leading her over to the reunited couple. Arthur raised an eyebrow at the thief holding his sister’s hand, but refrained from making a comment.

“May the Goddess’ grace shine upon you both,” Morgana said.

Arthur pulled his sister into a tight embrace. “I bless the day she brought you back to us,” he whispered to her.

She smiled as he released her and brushed away her tears.

“And you,” Arthur said to Gwaine, clapping him on the shoulder.

Merlin was a bit freer and gave Gwaine a hug. He stepped back and cupped Gwaine’s face in his hand. “The truest friend we ever had,” he said, nodding.

Gwaine, hardened thief and recent believer in the power of magic, blushed.

Morgana chuckled and took his hand to lead him away. Merlin and Arthur had some reuniting to do.

“I expect to see you at Beltane,” she said to Gwaine as they approached the doors of the great hall.

Gwaine laughed and put an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll be there, my lady. Even if I have to steal someone else’s mask.”


End file.
